Shepherds
by LittleRedMare
Summary: Peace gives one time to think. Not just think. Remember. Connor & Murphy are reminded of the loss of Rocco, set in Ireland.


**Disclaimer: **My first story for The Boondock Saints, so we'll see how this goes. I don't own the characters. I just corrected some spelling errors, and added a few things this time around.

Just as the grass was brilliantly green, the sky was constantly a lifeless gray. Sun was a rarity, and they were sure they could count the number of sunny days since they'd been back on one hand.  
And it was so damn quiet.

Life in the city was never silent. Cars honking, people shouting, dogs barking, sirens wailing. When they first arrived in Boston they had been overwhelmed with the noise, the commotion, the life. Now that they were back in Ireland, they were overwhelmed by the silence. Here it was just the wind, the rain, the bleating of the sheep, and whenever one of them spoke, disturbing the quiet. Peaceful. Neither of them had felt peaceful in a long time, still didn't. Didn't think they ever would again. Peace they say, is the enemy of memory. Peace gives one time to think. Not just think. Remember.

Connor shifted in the saddle and took another drag off his cigarette, letting out a plume of smoke with a long slow breath. It curled and danced around him, up, up, and away into the same color sky. The horse beneath him shifted her weight from one hind leg to the other, perfectly content to stand and watch the flock graze while she rested. Connor glanced over his shoulder, stubbing out his cigarette on the horn of the leather saddle, waiting for Murphy… wherever the hell he was. With a sigh he gathered the reins and the little mare turned reluctantly, needing a nudge from his heels to pick up a slow trot back the way they had come.

The horse crested the hill and Connor scanned the rolling landscape for some sign of his brother. A movement caught his eye, and he spotted him, a couple hundred yards away, climbing down from his horse and walking into a small dip in the land where he knelt down, the top of his head barely visible over a cluster of brush. Connor nudged the horse again and she broke into a lazy canter over the turf toward the other horse, and the other twin. They reached the two in a matter of seconds, pulling the mare to a halt next to his brother's horse and dismounting.  
"Ya alright Murph?" He called, his words intrusive in the quiet. Murphy stayed on his knees staring straight ahead, as if he hadn't heard.  
"…Murphy?" Connor was finally close enough to see over the darker twin's shoulder and he knew.

The sheep's wool was dyed an awful crimson, and in some places it had dried to a reddish brown. He couldn't see a place on it that wasn't torn up. Its neck and flanks were a mess of bite marks, matted burrs, and exposed meat, its back legs were mutilated into uselessness. Raw, bloodied flesh hung off it in places, or was missing all together to expose muscle and on one mauled leg, straight down to the yellowed bone. One ear was half gone, a ragged bloody edge left over. Sweat, dirt, and blood had thickly matted the wool and crusted over. Red stained the grass and dirt around it, seeping into the earth and dying the green grass to a dirty brown. The ground was rough and pocketed where it had tried in vain to stand and fight off whatever had attacked it. The older twin sighed, God only knew how long it had struggled before it had finally-

Then it bleated feebly.

Connor sank to the ground next to his brother and Murphy finally turned to look at him. He had always been the darker one, both in appearance and in emotion. More prone to being moody and quiet, Murphy was quick to anger, to action, and in good times to laughter, but never to any other feelings, least of all sadness. But there it was, his blue eyes clouded with it; loss. Sadness. Hurt. They were both thinking of the same thing. Rocco.

_The bullet ripped through him, and out the back of the wooden chair, spraying splinters and blood across the floor and knocking the bloody faced, shaggy haired Italian backwards. Murphy twisted in his chair and it flipped, his arms pinned awkwardly behind him as he slammed into the ground and scrabbled across the cement to Rocco. Connor screamed Roc's name again and again but Murphy was right there, head pressed to his bloodied shirt, the red staining his face and he didn't give a fuck, he could hear Roc's breath catching in his throat, warbling and gasping through the blood that was filling his mouth, his eyes rolling and wild. _  
_"You can't stop, you'll get out of here... don't ever stop..." he was gasping and Murphy tucked his head in to their friend's neck, loyal to a fault, all their fault… Roc's face was a mess of blood and sweat and that long unruly hair, gasping and struggling to say something more to them as the pain was ripping through his body, and then slowly, peacefully starting to ebb away. Murphy choked out a scream that caught in his throat as he struggled to get closer, to be there with him, just like Roc had always been there for them, the side of his head pinned to the dying man's chest, one ear filled with the sound of a fading heartbeat, the other with the sound of his brother's screams.  
_  
Connor's voice once again filled his ears as he broke the silence.

"Fuckin' neighbor's dog."

Murphy reached out to run a hand down the side of the animal's face, the shortly sheared fur crusted hard with blood. Its eyes rolled in its head and it struggled weakly, front legs shuffling halfheartedly, knowing there was no escape. How many times would he have to watch this? The same fucking re-run of death and dying as its eyes began to cloud over and darkness stole it away, peacefully, no more pain. Peace. The darker twin removed his hand and leaned back and Connor knew it was over, the rare display of emotions closed off and he was almost embarrassed to have seen it, just as Murphy was likely embarrassed to have shown it. His blue eyes were no longer distant and pained, just cold and unfeeling. Connor wondered if they'd ever be any other way again.

In the same motion, as if connected, they both pulled out a cigarette, tucked it between their lips, and flicked open their lighters.


End file.
